Author's Note: Well hello there, my young saplings! Long time no upload. To make up for that, I've had this little gem planned out for about a month now. It was meant to be an especially long one shot, but I ran out of time. This is for my friend Giovanna's birthday, so if you read, please wish her a happy birthday! She's one of my best friends, and I wish her all the happiness in the world. Her Tumblr is:
queenbadger . tumblr . com
Jesse St. James can count the number of times he's seen Rachel Berry on one hand. He's seen the brown haired girl a total of four times, each with a very significant outcome. But seeing her at Kurt Hummel's wedding to Blaine Anderson, is not something he expected. Not in the slightest.
But maybe he should start at the beginning. It's a good place to start; The Sound of Music even said it, and Jesse has never been one to argue with the musical theatre gods.
It all started with a cup of coffee, as Hollywood-esque as that sounds. A piping venti double shot non-dairy espresso with a loose lid, to b7e specific.
If you asked Jesse, it wasn't his fault. The Lima Bean was crowded, especially for a Sunday afternoon. Jesse had been at Carmel all day long, rehearsing for Vocal Adrenaline's upcoming performance at Regional's. Rehearsals were long and grueling, Shelby, was hard on them, and his body ached from its core by the time he got home. But that was partially why he loved it so much. The feeling he got from being on stage, achy joints and all. Whenever Jesse stepped off the stage, he felt like he was on a never ending high. Cliché as it may be, performing was his drug, and he didn't plan on getting sober anytime soon.
Coming to the Lima Bean was something Jesse had never made a habit. He found the café to be mediocre at best, and the barista's constant flirting was an annoyance rather than flattery. But he was in the area and needed to get a quick coffee to wake him up. So mediocre would have to do. Picking up his drink and taking a small sip, he looked down at his phone as he began to walk to the door.
And right into Rachel Berry.
There was a small yelp and the sound of a lid popping off, all along with the screech of wet sneaker soles. Both coffees spilled onto the tile floor, resulting in an annoyed grunt from Jesse and an audible scream from the tiny girl in front of him. She was obviously not pleased at having a hot latte spilled on her sweater, drenching the little cat that decorated the red wool.
"You really should watch where you're going!" she said, her musical voice dripping with anger. "And to think, I just had this sweater washed." She shook her head as she looked at her chest, blotting the stains with a napkin.
"I could say the same for you," Jesse remarked, a light snarl in his voice.
"Well, I'm not the one who was too busy staring at their phone to walk the right way!" The girl's chocolate eyes were hot coals burning in the sockets. She obviously took herself very seriously, her posture straight as a rod. Jesse rolled his eyes as he mopped up the last of the coffee on the floor.
"There you go, Princess." He shoved his phone in his jeans pocket, shaking his head. "Have a good day, you hear?" He was halfway to the door when she called out to him.
"Don't you think the least you could do is buy me another coffee?" She looked at him, arms crossed over her chest, a pout across her face.
Jesse turned around, eyebrows raised up high. This girl was unbelievable. Here she was, in all her glory, demanding that he buy her a new coffee after snapping at him. Un-fucking-believable.
But Jesse St. James was a gentleman. Or so he liked to think. So with a huff, he whipped out his wallet and asked her what she was drinking.
"Venti double shot espresso," she said with a sharp tone to her voice. "Vegan." Her lips were pursed in a tight smile, something playful burning in her eyes. She screamed cocky, all the way down from her bobby socks to her owl sweater.
Huffing under his breath, Jesse placed the order, about to give his own name when asked for one. But (as he should've expected) the girl gave hers.
"Rachel," she said simply. "Rachel Barbra Berry."
Shaking his head with a chuckle, Jesse began to realize just how seriously she took herself after all. Rachel carried herself like the Queen of Sheba, spoke like an English professor who'd had one too many voice lessons, and dressed like a Catholic school girl who was out of school for a holy day.
But Jesse couldn't deny that there was something hot about her. So he kept his mouth shut and paid for her drink, all $5.47 of it. (For something that lacked whipped cream, it was pretty damn expensive.)
"Well, Rachel Barbra Berry," Jesse said, emphasizing the syllables, "here. Enjoy your coffee." He handed piping cup to her, a proud grin decorating his face. "Or do you want me to sit there and watch you drink it too?" He was being purely sarcastic of course, yearning to go home as soon as possible.
But of course that couldn't happen. Rachel just had to insist he sit and chat with her, for Lord knows why. For some reason, he surrendered, and for some reason, he actually had a decent time.
"So you go to McKinley?" he asks, watching her sip her coffee. Jesse just realized that he spent the last of his money buying her another drink.
"Yes, I do." Rachel placed her cardboard cup down on the café table, wiping her lip with a cheap paper napkin. "I'm a sophomore. You go to Carmel, I presume." Her voice still maintained its musical tone as her eyes sparkled in the sunlight shining through the window.
"You know I go to Carmel? I don't remember bringing that up," he said with a smirk. "What? Do you run my fan club?"
Rachel rolled her eyes, pushing her cup forward.
"Don't get cocky now," she said with a caustic bite. "I'm in New Directions. You're the lead of Vocal Adrenaline. Anyone with a brain in the Ohio show choir community knows you. Besides, it's been said that if anyone is going to have a future on the stage, it's you." She lifted her lips in a weak smile at the last statement.
"Oh so you heard that?" Jesse let a 10,000 dollar grin show through, not hiding his approval of her sentence. "Well, from what I heard, Ms. Rachel Berry," he began, standing up from his chair, "you're a little Barbra Streisand. We'll see if we meet up in New York, how about that?"
With that, he left little Rachel Berry behind in a coffee shop with a $5.00 espresso that she ended up not liking too much after all, and mental images of Jesse St. James dancing in her head.
